Yin & Yang
by penguineveres
Summary: Maura and Jane are Yin and Yang, but not necessarily in the way you'd expect. This piece is a bit more experimental than I'm used to, but it explores how female relationships are less cut and dry than the pairs of extremes they are often assigned: butch and femme, dominant, and submissive, confident and meek. Feedback welcome, I simply ask you keep it constructive. Thanks!


Part 1: Yin

Jane Rizzoli was not a girly-girl. And she was fine with that. Really. She had long ago given up feeling awkward about it. Mostly. She could knock back a beer with the best of them, and the swagger she walked with was not an affectation in the least-she walked like she lived: cool, confident, and capable. But every once in a while, she resented her lack of girliness. He inability to do simple things like start her day with smooth hair and expertly applied makeup. She had been told she had a nice body, and not even just in the leering, inappropriate musings of suspects and other cops. But she completely lost her mojo-_Mojo, Rizzoli? Really?-_ in a dress. Her back slumped forward a bit without her willing it, her long fingers continuously tugged at the hem, trying to fulfill her subconscious desire to have a few-okay, _a lot_-more inches of fabric covering her legs.

So, it was with no small amount of discomfort that she found herself wearing a dress on a Tuesday night, trying her best to blend in with decorative vases and the other neutral design accessories in the ballroom of a high end hotel where Boston's elite was gathered for a fundraising event. She knew that, were she to stand out in this context, it would not be for any positive reasons. Most likely it would involve someone noticing her lurching like Bambi in heels as she tried to flag down a waiter for another glass of champagne. Even though Maura had told her you weren't supposed to 'flag' anyone down at these functions. _Maura._ Jane let out a sigh, searching the crowd for her doctor friend, who she had kept an eye on all night. Being with Maura made Jane want to be just a little bit girly, which made no sense to Jane. She was aware of the stereotypes of the butch cop, had been treated as such more often than not. Her overt protectiveness of Maura certainly did nothing to discourage others from viewing Jane that way. She could see where they were coming from. She'd always been a bit of a tomboy. Jane snorted and tried to cover it by turning her head and sipping champagne. _A BIT of a tomboy, sure Jane. _Okay, so she was and continued to be a major tomboy, but she couldn't help but think being with Maura made it more obvious. She remembered when she picked Maura up this evening. _That was NOT me 'being the guy,' I just prefer to be the one driving. It's always best to be in my unmarked in case we get called in._ Maura had barely looked at Jane when she answered the door, explaining she was late in a rushed voice with a breathy quality that did weird things to Jane's insides. Luckily, Jane was used to that feeling, to the point that she just barely registered it and moved on. She followed Maura upstairs and into her bedroom where Maura immediately began trying on different pairs of earrings.

The remembered stab of wistfulness Jane felt when she compared their reflections in the vanity mirror still echoed emptily in her chest as she continued her pointless vigil in the hotel ballroom. Bambi-legs or not, Jane decided she could hobble at least far enough to find some fresh air. Jane found her way out onto a stepped patio hewn from some kind of expensive looking rock-_How can rock look expensive? And since when is 'hewn' in my vocabulary? Oh, right. Maura. _Jane shook her head, returning to her previous train of thought, namely, how out of place her image looked next to Maura's reflection at the beginning of the evening. Maura must have seen something in her face, because she arched her brow curiously when she caught Jane's eyes in the mirror. "Would you like to borrow a pair of earrings?" Jane had actually laughed at that, because, no, that was not what she needed. But Maura had latched onto the idea and now seemed more excited about finding Jane earrings than she was at completing the finishing touches on her own ensemble. "Oh, please Jane, a pair of hoops would complete that outfit marvelously." They both knew Jane would cave and they were running late as it was, so Jane decided to just go with it. She immediately regretted that decision. Maura handed her the hoops and returned her focus to her own jewelry, sweeping her hair back from her neck and quickly securing the modest pearl studs to her ears.

Several things hit Jane at once in that moment. A scene flashed in her mind of her tracing that graceful neck with her fingers, and she felt her skin heat at the thought. There was another simultaneous flash of a memory of blood drawn out by a scalpel, and shame and anger in equal parts accompanied that vision. But beyond both of those things was an awkward awareness: Maura stood their in all her feminine glory, and Jane's fingers felt large and clumsy as she tried (and continued to fail) to secure the back of the earring. Maura's knowing smirk fed the flush creeping up Jane's neck, now from embarrassment rather than arousal or anger; but Jane dropped her hands and permitted Maura to affix the earrings for her.

Now in the cool night air, Jane could feel her face warming again with the memory, and she marveled uncomfortably at how that brief interaction with Maura, like so many others, had stripped her of any hopeful confidence she may have had while getting dressed in her own apartment before she left for Maura's place. With the ready comparison of Maura's dainty hands, her subtle perfume, her understated makeup, Jane saw her hands as big and fumbling, she was aware of the obvious scent of whatever CVS lotion she had opted for this month, and she couldn't help but wonder if her eyeliner wasn't 'bold' so much as 'raccoon.' In short, she felt much like she had as a twelve year old when she'd snuck her mom's makeup bag into her room and tried to figure out how girls like Stacy Cornish and Abby Vandling and seemingly all the other girls in her grade applied the stuff so offhandedly between classes. She felt awkward and out of her depth and a little bit (_Okay, a LOT)_ vulnerable. And that, THAT feeling, is what feeling girly felt like to Jane Rizzoli. And why the hell would she want to keep trying and failing and feeling that way?

The not-so-distant clacking of heels brought Jane back into the here and now, and she walked quickly to the edge of the patio, tucking herself tightly against the railing, hoping the potted tree to her right was concealing her from Maura's eagle eye. Jane wasn't running away exactly-_Right. Keep telling yourself that, Rizzoli_-she just needed a few moments to regroup and not feel so exposed before she was subjected to Maura's scrutiny. However, as was generally the case, she was not so lucky. She felt a hand being placed tentatively on her back, "Jane?" _Shit._


End file.
